Just a Fantasy
by DJLiopleurodon
Summary: Clint persuades Natasha to tell him a story
1. Chapter 1

This story was inspired by Michelle's _Taking the Edge Off_ and by the promise of the next chapter of Roar-ra's _Guns, Xanax and Champagne_.

* * *

"My dirtiest fantasy, huh?"

He looks across the pillows at her, "yeah, tell me. What gets you wet?"

"You get me wet."

He makes a dismissive sound. "Yeah, but in fantasy," he moves closer to her, sliding his calloused hand down her body to rest on her thigh, his fingers almost, but not quite, touching her center. "What gets you hot, what do you think about when you are alone?" he says, lowering his voice, enjoying the way she tenses in anticipation of his touch.

"Well, it changes a lot," she equivocates.

"Ok, right now. Tell me what your current fantasy is."

"I don't suppose saying you dropping this counts?" she smiles; he can tell she's relenting.

"No. Come on, Tasha," he cajoles, "I'm not going to laugh or be offended. Well, unless it's about Stark. You don't fantasize about him, do you?" He withdraws his hand, pretending offense.

"About kicking his ass, yes. About fucking him, no."

"Ok. Good. Tell me," his fingers are back, teasing her.

"You probably don't want to hear it."

"That bad?" he says, supporting himself on his elbow to regard her. "Ok, now you gotta tell me."

"I like to think about you...and me...with someone ... else."

"Mmmm," he growls, nuzzling her neck, "I like where this is going."

"It's probably not what you are thinking. It's with... another guy..." she bites her lip and steals a glance at him.

"Someone in particular?" he arches an eyebrow at her.

She blushes a little. She honest-to-god blushes. He's seen her flushed before, seen her affect embarrassment this way when she's undercover, but he's never seen her blush like this.

"It's Steve, isn't it."

"Maybe," she evades.

He falls back on the pillows chuckling and stretches his shoulders before turning back to her.

"Ok," she concedes. "Yes. It's Steve. You. Me. And him. That's what I think about."

He stops and considers for a moment. "It's just a fantasy. Tell me."

"So, the thing about Steve..." she starts.

"Yeah, I know. He's ..."

"You want to hear this or not?"

"Yes. Sorry," he says, chastened.

"Ok. Don't interrupt."

"So, the thing about Steve. Yeah, he's sexy. So are you..."

"No need to placate me."

"Clint!"

He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.

She sighs and stares up at the ceiling, reclaiming her courage.

"Anyway. He's sexy, but it's such a different _kind_ of sexy than you. He seems so innocent. And you, you just have always had these knowing eyes; like they hid some secret carnal promise. That was something I always thought about when you were 'just a fantasy,' you know? The things that those eyes said you knew and that I was sure your body could deliver."

"Thanks, I think."

"I don't know. I think it's the contrast. These two incredibly sexy, incredibly different men, both there for my satisfaction.

"Sometimes I amuse myself imagining circumstances in which this might actually happen. But I'll spare you that. I'll just start at the door to my apartment." Her voice drops to a smoky purr as she confides:

"You unlock the door with your key and usher us inside. I pull him to me and start kissing him. You press behind me and kiss my neck and nip my ear lobe. I feel you getting hard and I run my hand over your length through your pants. You ghost your fingers over my bare shoulders and down my arms. I get goosebumps all over."

"You unzip my top and it hits the floor followed by my bra. The rough cloth of your suit coat on my naked back makes me shiver against you."

He knows she editing her story; focusing on him more than in the actual scene she imagines. He doesn't complain. He's pleased he still gets to star in the story.

"Steve kisses me hungrily but hesitates to touch me. I put one of his hands on my breast and the other gripping my ass. His hand is very close to your erection, but neither of you seems to mind. I press myself to him and the feeling of being crushed between you two, feeling your desire hardening against me almost sends me over the edge right there.

"Your hands find all my secret erogenous spots; you always know just how to touch me. He strokes the more obvious places. Your breath on my neck and his mouth on mine— he's more skilled than I expect—I feel like I'm going to burst into flames.

"I move aside and you begin kissing him. You step in close and he's against the wall. He's Captain fucking America, and he's yielding to you. It's insanely hot.

"After a moment's hesitation, he begins to kiss back. You push his jacket off his shoulders and it falls to the tiles. His head is thrown back and he groans as you work your way down his throat with your lips and teeth and pull at his shirt until the buttons give way."

"What are you doing while this is happening?" he asks, his voice husky as he begins to stroke her thigh.

"No, let me," she says, brushing his hand away, "I don't want to lose my concentration." Her fingers slide between her folds and he watches with fascination as she works herself, his question forgotten as she knits her brow and sighs a small sound of pleasure.

"You both move towards the living room, leaving a trail of divested jackets, ties and buttons. I slip behind him and begin to undo the remaining buttons. You pull me to your chest. While you kiss me, you slide your hands under my skirt and push my panties off my hips, brushing your thumb here," she demonstrates with her own thumb between her lips and along her clit. She moans and continues in her sultry cadence. "I'm so overcome with that one touch, I falter and reach to you for balance as I step out of the black lace.

"Once my panties are off, you lower me to the couch and nudge my knees apart and my skirt to my waist. You draw Steve to you and kiss him again before positioning him before me.

"Steve sinks to floor between my legs. He's unsure at first, glancing at you as if to seek permission. I cup his cheek and focus his attention on me. He lowers his head and considers me and I melt under his scrutiny. When he finally probes me with his tongue and inhales my scent, I have to grip the upholstery to keep myself from coming up off the couch."

"What am I doing?"

"You sit in the chair across the room and light a cigarette..."

"You hated it when I smoked. You complained constantly before I quit."

"Fantasy, Clint. I don't have to taste it on you. Or smell it. And I don't have to worry about you getting lung cancer. Goddammit, stop interrupting me," she says without rancor. She relaxes back on the pillows and closes her eyes.

"You exhale and lean back, eyes on my face. I meet your gaze and I get even more turned on knowing you are watching. I twine one hand in Steve's hair and slide my calf over his shoulder. I run my other hand from my throat, over my breast and down to my leg, arching off the cushions." She mimics the gesture, moaning. "I want you to see how good it feels to have his mouth on my cunt."

"Let me touch you," he pleads. He can see how close she is.

She nods, biting her lip. At his first tentative touch, she tenses and gasps. Her muscles spasm around him as he inserts two fingers. "Oh, god, oh god, oh god..." she intones as his subtle movements drive her over the brink.

"Keep going," he breathes, the words hot against her skin. "I want you to come for me again."

She licks her lips and brushes a stray lock from her face as she marshals the words to continue. "Smoke curls around you. I keep my eyes on you as I come. Steve begins to kiss his way up my body, lavishing attention on my right breast," she draws her palm across her right nipple, "and then on my left." She clutches her left as he draws it into his mouth and captures her right nipple between his fingers. Her breath hisses in as her hips rise off the sheets. For a few minutes, her account stops.

"Then what?" he prompts.

She considers teasing him with a version that he wouldn't find particularly appealing, but she's as excited by his arousal as by the picture she's painting. Her initial intention of regaling him with a graphic story involving a lot more interaction between him and Steve gives way to something gratifying for both of them.

"Ok," her words again breathy on his skin. "He reaches my mouth and settles on the couch beside me. We continue to make out while you take his place. You feel so different there, your perpetual stubble on my inner thigh, how you know how to use your teeth just so. He explored; you approach like a master, like the confident, cocky bastard you are," she says through a smile. "Yeah, oh god, just like that. You play me with you hands and mouth like...oh, god, you make me come again, just... like... that," she gasps.

"The first time you get me off, I'm taut as a bowstring, but as you bring me towards the second climax, I'm just so relaxed. I languidly remove Steve's belt and lower his fly. I free him and begin to..." She reaches for him and wordlessly continues the story.

"Now it's just you and me."

"Where'd Steve go?"

"I don't know," she says in a less sexy accent. "He's just _gone_, ok? That's why it's a fantasy - I don't have to be considerate or even limited by the laws of anatomy or physics or spatial relations. If you want to get to the good part - Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

She takes a moment to recompose herself and resumes her narrative tone. "You lead me to the bedroom. You smolder down at me. You're so hard." She can tell he's about to interrupt again and she presses her mouth to his, drawing his lower lip between her teeth and gliding her thumb over his glans until a sigh of ecstasy tells her he's going to stop talking.

She grips his shoulders as she straddles his thighs. Her tale sheds some of its florid style as she holds him in thrall with her body instead. "I finish undressing you and push you down on the bed. You tear my skirt away and I take you inside me." She envelopes him, her internal muscles rippling as she adjusts to him. "And I start to..." She insinuates her body on his and rolls her hips.

"And then I do _this_ just the way I know you like." He moans as she shifts position and changes the angle, allowing him to move with her. "And then I..." She draws her nails the length of his chest, eliciting another sound satisfaction.

"I get you so close to coming and then I back off and bring you back to the edge again. Teasing you. Testing you. Seeing how much you can take." Her actions mirror her words. "Feeling your frustration and knowing you are loving every minute of it."

When she can tell he's aching, she asks "What do you do next?"

"I get to talk now?" he pants.

"No, you get to act."

He smirks as he contemplates this. Lifting her, he guides her to sit astride with her back to him. He braces against the mattress and elevates his pelvis, giving her better purchase to ride him. He smacks her ass and she flashes a look of both amusement and permission over her shoulder.

"Like that?" Another thrust, another smack.

She arches her back, giving him an account of her toned muscles. She rocks, bucking with each light slap until his muscles begin to tremble with his impending orgasm. He gives out entirely as it overtakes him and they collapse to the sheets.

Recovering his senses and ability to breath, he asks "And then do I do this?" Suddenly, she is on her back and he holds her in place with his weight, catching both her wrists loosely above her head. "Now what do I do?" He rests his forehead against hers and awaits her directive.

"You make love to me until I forget my own name and can't do anything but repeat yours over and over."

* * *

"Be honest, in your fantasy, do you ever fuck him?"

"Maybe," she says wryly. "Do you want me to describe that?"

"Nope. I'm good," he says, "I'm good."

* * *

Like it? Deeply affronted by it? Review it and tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't think this one is as sexy as the first one, but I had fun writing it. It was a lot harder to write a fantasy for Clint, especially in his voice. It was a precarious line between the playful banter I wanted to keep and a sufficiently sexual masculine scenario. Does it work? That's what's the review button is for_.

* * *

"I told you mine the other night. Now you tell me yours. What's your dirtiest fantasy." She folds her arms over his chest and props her chin on her hands, regarding him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Won't be any good at it, for one thing," he says. "You were so descriptive. Not really my forte."

"Don't pull that man-of-action bullshit on me, Clint." She sits up, "I've heard you talk a good game undercover."

"In that case, I would just make up some shit with candles and rose petals."

"Like _American Pie_?"

"_American Beauty_," he corrects. "Whole different fantasy."

"Either way, I wouldn't have believed you."

"Right. You tell me another one." He draws her close back down on the bed and caresses her throat with his mouth. "You were so good at it. I want to hear more about what gets you off."

"You know plenty about that. Your voice is sooooo sexy," she purrs, "you could make _anything_ sound erotic." She adds in a more conversational tone. "That and I want to interrupt you with a thousand questions."

He smiles against her hair. He's suddenly self-conscious of making his voice 'sooooo sexy' for her. "How about this; let me tell you a little about a fantasy I have and you tell me the story."

"You want me to tell you _your_ fantasy?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I don't think I even need you to describe it - I think I know one of yours."

"Really? Alright, let's hear it. What do I fantasize about?"

"You're in Prague, waiting for the go-ahead on a mid-level dealer. But you aren't even looking at that building. Instead, you are watching the woman in the flat across the street."

"What's she look like?"

"Well, she has ivory skin," she trails her fingers along her collar bone, "dangerously red hair and obscenely full lips," she kisses him, hard, hand at the nape of his neck . "Green eyes..."

"I can see her eyes from there?"

"Hawkeye," she reminds, "it's kind of your thing. And you have a scope. Which is actually kind of creepy, even for you."

He ignores her jab and adds, "She has, without a doubt, the most incredible body: it's perfection, lithe and firm, all curves and strong lines. Like work of art sculpted in white marble, but soft, warm and alive with inviting promise. And her ass... And her tits..."

"Tits? Really, Barton, really?" she scoffs.

"Like that? I didn't even need a thesaurus."

"At any point, does her twin-sister-roommate show up?"

"Nat, _you_ are the one with the three-way."

"Can I go on, or are you telling this story now?"

"Please continue."

"She's several floors up and your nest is the only vantage point from which she can be seen so she's putting on this show just for you. She opens the bathroom door and slips out of her clothes, treating you to the briefest glimpse of her body as she steps into the shower. You imagine the water sluicing over her skin, soap sliding over her like hands; like your hands."

She tilts her face and runs her fingers through her hair, mimicking the ecstasy of hot water coursing over her body. He begins to explore her, starting with feather-light caresses along the lines of her back.

"She emerges in just a towel. You watch transfixed as she pulls it away and begins drying her hair; her breasts quiver with the movement. Resting on the edge of the bed, she extends a shapely leg, rolling on silk stockings and attaching them to a black lace garter belt." She smirks at the noise he makes at the mention of the garter belt; he always seems fascinated whenever she wears one.

Calloused fingers grow more urgent and insistent, massaging sinuous shoulders and proceeding to the narrowing of her waist and the swell of her hip.

"She puts on no panties. She faces the window as she slowly draws her bra on, knees slightly apart. You want so much to see between those creamy thighs, but she's turned just out of view. " She shifts her hips away from his questing, denying him.

She rests her cheek on his chest and takes him, already growing hard, in her hands. "She slips into her dress, arches her back as she zips tight the fabric encircling body. She sways to unheard music and takes a sip from a glass of wine, baring the curve of her throat for you. Ok, your turn."

He swallows thickly. "Yeah," he nods. "Ok. She ... Oh, god, I'm not sure I can ... with you doing that." He rises into her touch.

"Do you want me to stop?" she arcs her thumb over his most sensitive spot and his sharp intake of breath answers her question. "I want to hear what happens next, so I'll stop distracting you."

He quickly continues, "She steps lightly to the door and emerges on the street a few minutes later. Impulsively, I drop a line from my nest and rappel down, leaving my bow, commlink, everything. "

Continuing to slowly stroke him, her lips leave a trail of soft kisses and warm breath on his neck and face.

"She sits alone at a bar, demurely siping a drink, her legs crossed lady-like. As I walk in, she gazes at me over the rim of her glass. Jesus, that feels good. I slide onto the stool beside her."

She halts her progress along his jaw. "In your tac-gear?"

"What? No, I have a suit on now, the grey one you like."

"Where did you..."

"It was under my gear. James Bond can do it, why can't I?"

"What do you say to this mystery woman?"

His mouth goes dry in mild panic. In his head, the scene skips from a little mutual eye-fucking followed by her leaving the bar with him without a backward glance.

"Hi."

"You say, 'hi'" she says dubiously.

"Sure, it's my fantasy, I just have to _imagine_ I'm suave, I don't actually have to be suave. We talk, I buy her a drink... Mmm, please don't stop." He pauses to grope for the next sentence. "This is harder than you made it seem," he grumbles.

"She seems pretty easy," she observes, dryly.

"Oh, not at all. She's sophisticated and engaging and funny, and she's so much sexier up close." He brushes a lock of hair away from her face, and holds her gaze. "But when she meets my eyes, I see she wants me as badly as I want her. She throws a glance over her shoulder at the door, a sly, knowing smile on her lips."

"We stumble through the door of the flat, she grips my tie to keep my mouth on hers. I fumble to close the door and to kick off my shoes without releasing her. We fall back onto the couch with her laying on my chest. She kisses me, all urgent lips and tongue." In one smooth movement, she finds herself on his chest, his hardness insistent against her, his mouth crashing on hers.

"Now what?" he says, breathless, sometime later.

"Leading her to the bedroom, you let her push you against the pillows. She guides your hands back to the ornate metal bed frame where she expertly binds your wrists among the bars with a scarf. You test the knots - they hold firm.

"She unbuttons your shirt and loosens your tie before returning to the foot of the bed. With painstaking attention, she removes her dress, now just in her bra and garter belt.

"'I know you were watching me,' she says, 'Did you like what you saw?'

"You nod.

"'Well, I think I've let you look long enough.' She removes your tie and secures it over your eyes.

"You feel her breasts crush against your face as she leans toward your bound hands. She takes a finger into her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue. She nips at the hardened flesh.

"'You obviously work with your hands,' she purrs, "I love a man who can put his fingers to good use.'"

She lays back on the pillows and huffs a disappointed sigh, "This is getting sort of soft-core, isn't it?"

"I asked you to tell me a story. This is a story. It's kinda hot," he shrugs.

"Kind of? I asked for one of your real fantasies, not some made-up _American Hustle_ crap."

"It's _American Beau_... It doesn't even have anything to do with... You are the one who started... Never mind. Ok," he concedes. "I don't know how appealing you'll find this, but this is one of my favorites. The mission that went south in Sarajevo..."

"The one where HYDRA agents beat the hell out of you and we got out about five minutes before they were going to shoot us?"

"Yeah, that one."

She flashes back to that ill-fated debacle. The only survivors of a fierce ambush, they were confined in a windowless, steel-doored closet in a dank basement, handcuffed. Before she could maneuver enough to access the lock picks hidden in the palm of his archery glove, they dragged him away for 'interrogation'. After a sickening 45 minutes, they tossed him back in, bound hand and foot to a metal chair, beaten and bloody. They took his flak vest, but they left his gloves. She managed to get the lock picks and subdue the guards just as their would-be executioners rounded the corner. The ensuing shoot-out still might have ended badly if not for the SHIELD extraction team.

"What could possibly be sexy about that?"

They lay so their noses nearly touch. This close, she can see the scars on his face he earned on that mission. "We know we are about to die, and all we want is one last time together."

"Oh," she says, voice small.

"It's dirty and desperate and extremely hot."

"Ok, let's hear it."

"I'm tied to the chair. They've underestimated you—your hands are cuffed behind you but you are otherwise free. You examine the extent of my injuries. I know they are bad. You know they are bad, but you try not to let the concern show." His hands skim over her flesh, a shiver of anticipation runs through her.

"You kiss around the worst of the cuts. Your lips are so soft on my bruised skin." He cups her breast, flicking his thumb across her nipple as it pebbles at his touch. "You find all the undamaged places and offer relief to the bruises with your warm breath.

"You sit across my thighs. I bury my face against your neck. You smell so good; gunpowder, sweet sweat, whatever the hell it is you put in your hair, your own Natasha smell. I trail my tongue from your collar bone, along your beautiful neck and up to your ear, nipping at your earlobe." Emulating this, the account stops while his hand drifts down her belly, coaxing her thighs farther apart. She opens to him, arching her back and curling into his kiss.

"You grind your center against my torso; it hurts—they hit me in the stomach a lot—but I press into you anyway, feeling your heat." The heel of his hand against her draws a sound of need and promise. "You moan like that, and I'm suddenly straining against you.

"You slip off my lap, crouching between my legs, and slide your cheek along my inner thigh. You use the tip of your tongue to pull the zipper into your mouth. You hold it between your teeth, and draw it down. A deft movement with your lips and I'm free, fully erect and waiting.

"You pause before taking me into your mouth, meeting my eyes with such hunger, such desperation, my hands ache to explore your body, to pull you to me. When you finally touch my cock with your lips, it's, well, it's always awesome, but this time, it's mind blowing."

"Is that what you want me to do now?"

"Yes," he breathes, "please."

"Say it."

"I want you to put your mouth on me, Natasha."

He twines his fingers in her hair as she slides down his body. He groans when the warmth of her mouth envelopes him, scorching pleasure washing over him.

When he's gasping, she ceases her ministration, prompting him to continue. Her smile quirks up at his moan of loss.

He exhales his aching frustration. "I come but am ready for you again almost instantly. And before you comment on _that_—fantasy."

She arches one eyebrow as if to say, _did I say anything? Now you are interrupting yourself_?

He draws a deep breath and tries to resume his seductive tone after the moment of self-depreciation. "You return to straddling my lap, kissing me like its the last time, because it is. You take my lip into your mouth, your talented tongue soothing my broken skin." He pulls her back up onto his chest, kissing her hungrily.

"With painstaking care, you slide..."

"How did we get my clothes off?"

"What was that you said? In a fantasy, you aren't limited by the laws of anatomy or spatial relations? Well, I'm not limited by barriers as inconsequential as pants," he says smugly.

"Fair enough."

"Your strong legs support you as you..."

"Do all the work."

At his look of irritation, she adds, "it's annoying to be interrupted during the good part, isn't it?"

He reclaims her mouth and rolls them over by way of an answer, keeping most of his weight on his elbows, but still pressing heavily on her small frame. "Maybe I'm done talking. Man-of-action, right?"

* * *

"Do you have other in-the-line of duty fantasies?"

She half-expects a juvenile response, but he simply asks, "Like what?"

"Like in the decon chamber, or against a tree in the Columbian jungle or undercover in an arms dealer's strip club?" *

"No, but those do sound pretty hot."

"So, how was it to tell the story?" she asks.

"Pretty damn hot," he admits.

"Not your dirtiest fantasy, though."

"Not by a long shot."

* * *

*apologies to Michelle. Go read her works. After you review this.

_8/2/13 update: can I tell you how excited I was when _American Hustle _was announced so I could use it in place of _American Splendor_?_


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